


One Little Thing

by Severina



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Community: getyourwordsout, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 09:32:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6798505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her father's castle is empty, its people missing. Except for the strange sorcerer who seems to know more than he should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Little Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Pre Season One. Written for LJ's getyourwordsout bingo for this photo prompt:
> 
> [ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/Severina2001/media/gywo%20bingo/11%20castle_zpszish9ytj.jpg.html)
> 
> * * *

The castle was as empty as it had appeared.

Belle had approached from the northwest, her heart pounding ever faster as she made her way through the empty streets of the village. No crofters peddling their wares; no children chasing balls in the square. The fires at the blacksmith's were banked, their ashes long cold. Her pace quickened as she reached the moat that surrounded the castle, and she was nearly running by the time she broached the walls and emerged into the courtyard.

The vast space was normally crowded and noisy: wagons loaded with supplies making their way to the castle kitchens, people hurrying to and fro on important business, her father's knights mustering near the armory. The number of people it took to keep the castle functional was somewhat staggering, and she had never been in the courtyard and not been assailed with their bustle and din. The eerie silence raised the hairs on the nape of her neck.

Her footsteps echoed on the flagstones, then muffled when she drew into the hall. Here, there were the little signs of former life that she had witnessed also in the village: an iron helm listing against an inner wall, a basket of apples pruned past rot in a bowl on the table. She made her way cautiously past empty rooms. Each breath she took sounded loud and harsh to her ears; her footsteps, though fleet as she took the stairs, seemed as loud as a smith's hammer. 

When she found her father's audience chamber as barren of life as the rest of the castle, her hands clenched into fists. She turned in a slow circle, her gaze taking in the wide table where he had often debated policy with his counselors; the ornate chair that had belonged to his father before him and his father's father before that. From that seat he heard the petitions of the people, issued his rulings on land disputes and whatever squabbles disturbed the populace. It seemed mad that he was not sitting there now, a cup of ale at his side and his scribe scribbling away at the table to his right.

"Father!" she called out. Her voice spiraled up to the ceiling, and somewhere outside the window a bird squawked in surprise and took flight. She knew it was pointless, perhaps even reckless, but could not stop herself from calling out again. "Mother!"

"No one seems to be home, dearie," a voice said from behind her. 

Belle whirled with a gasp. She had checked the room when she entered, and it had been empty. She was certain of it. 

The man standing near the waist high candelabra giggled, his fingers wiggling restlessly at his side. When he took a lilting step forward into the light she saw that his skin glittered in greens and golds. He cocked his head to the side, bird-like. "Cat got your tongue, dearie?" 

She refused to let his strange appearance and odd demeanour cow her. She was the lady of the castle, no matter that the castle was strangely deserted and its people missing. She raised her chin. "Who are you?" she demanded. "How did you get here?"

The man set his leg forward in the fashion of the high court, and bowed low. "Rumplestiltskin," he trilled out before straightening. He giggled again, high pitched and somehow terrible for its joyfulness in this barren space. "As for how I got here…"

Belle's hand flew to her chest when he disappeared, and she let out a strangled cry when he appeared scant seconds later, so close to her side that she could feel the heat of him through the gossamer sleeves of her dress. 

"I can go wherever I like," he breathed against her neck.

Belle stumbled back, nearly tripping on the hem of her gown. "Don't do that!" she blurted out crossly.

"Demanding, aren't you?" he said. He waved a hand in the air, crossing the room to hop lithely up onto the table and perch impertinently there. "No matter. The question is," he continued, pointing a finger at her, "what are _you_ doing here?"

"I live here!"

"Do you?" Rumplestiltskin tilted his head, then stretched to look deliberately around the chamber. He leaned forward to swipe one long finger across the back of a chair before wrinkling his nose at the film of dust. She didn't see him conjure the silk handkerchief, but could not mistake the look of distaste as he judiciously wiped his hand. 

After all the deserted rooms and silent halls, it was this insignificant moment that truly brought home to Belle the gravity of the situation. Mrs. Moreau would never let things get so soiled, and in her father's audience chamber! Her shoulders slumped. "Something has happened," she said quietly. She stared uneasily at the demarcation Rumplestiltskin's finger had made in the dust, and lifted her head. "I don't know what has happened, exactly, but I will discover it and--

"Ogres," Rumplestiltskin interrupted. He sprang gracefully from his perch, landed lightly on the balls of his feet. "Ogres have happened here. Why, it's as clear as the nose on your face, dearie." He leaned close, over-large eyes sparkling. "And a very pert nose it is, too."

Belle frowned. The last Ogre War had been hundreds of years ago, but she had read about it in her books. The destruction had been widespread and terrible. Thousands had died until the ogres had suddenly been vanquished by means unknown. _This_ did not feel like it should, yet it was true that ogres had been seen gathering on the border. Her father had been poised for an attack. And what reason had this strange little man to lie to her?

She shook her head, trying to reconcile the devastation she'd imagined when reading her history texts to the still and quiet castle. "But… how? Our allies to the west…"

"A choice!" he sang out gleefully, one long taloned finger pointed toward the vaulted ceiling.

"Choice?" Belle repeated dubiously. Her brow furrowed. "You're… you're not making any sense."

"Sometimes one's fate hinges on such a little thing," he said. "A stolen ring, a secret whispered in the wrong ear. An unclasped hand." His jaw clenched, eyes that had sparkled with mischief growing dark. "One little thing," he bit out, "and it changes _everything_."

Belle pulled back from the darkness in his reptilian eyes, her mind whirling. Ogres and choices! She had no idea what he was talking about, but one thing was plain: this odd creature of magic knew the truth of what happened here. Belle drew herself up as tall as her barely five foot frame would let her and met his blazing eyes. "Where is my father? Tell me!"

Rumplestiltskin blinked, the spell broken at the sound of her voice, and leaned back on his heels. "Oh, he's dead, dearie. They're all dead."

"That's not true!" she snapped. 

"One choice," Rumplestiltskin said, pointing a long finger at her. "Yours. A single word from your lips. Yes… or no. And it changed the fate of thousands. An entire kingdom. Your father and your people fought the ogres here. And they died here. All of them."

Belle shook her head, the thought of it too much to contemplate. Her parents. Mrs. Moreau, whose dour countenance masked an unfailingly cheery disposition and a willingness to sneak cookies to small children even when they'd been naughty and missed their dinners. The knights who had pledged to fight gallantly, the millers and smiths in the village, the farmers. The children.

Yet she remained. Belle grasped onto this incongruity with the tenacity that she used when studying the oldest scrolls in her mother's library. She whirled on the sorcerer. "You're lying," she said between gritted teeth. "If my father chose to remain here and fight the ogres, I would have stayed with him," she said resolutely. Her chin firmed. "I would never leave his side."

"Oh, but you didn't," Rumplestiltskin said. She kept her eyes fixed forward as he sidled up to her, his breath warm in her ear. "You see, my dear… you're dead, too."

 

Belle woke with a strangled gasp, her eyes fluttering in the near-dark. Her heart skittered like a wild horse beneath her breast. She took in a single great gulp of air, drawing in the familiar scent of tallow and smoke, and of the rosemary and jasmine from the sachet beneath her pillow. She realized her hands had clenched at the bedsheet as she slept, and now forced herself to release her grip. To settle back on her pillow, though her eyes remained warily open. 

The candle that had burned brightly on her nightstand when she had snuggled beneath the covers was now spluttering fitfully in a pool of melted wax, casting jittery shadows on the walls of her chamber. From beyond her door she could still hear the recognizable sounds of the castle at rest: the chink of the watchman's keys, a low-pitched voice on the stair, even the chittering of the mice in the walls. The sounds soothed her, though she was unsure as to the reason. The dream that had woken her with such a start was already fading into mist. Something about the castle, she reckoned, and the ogres that had been spotted massing at the northern border. It was only natural that her worries should follow her down into sleep.

Belle turned onto her side, only then noticing the half-open book that had slipped from her lap when she had fallen asleep. She had snuck the grimoire out of the locked cabinet in her mother's chamber. She'd felt a twinge of guilt at using her hairpins in such a fashion, but if the ancient tome of spells and invocations provided a solution to their problem with the ogres she would gratefully accept any punishment her parents chose to administer. 

Just touching the worn cover of the book made her want to continue her search now, but her eyelids were already drooping. She reluctantly set the volume aside on her nightstand before leaning up on one elbow to blow out the candle. The sudden darkness brought with it a sense of foreboding. She shivered and curled back under the blankets, putting the strange feeling down to the last vestiges of her dream. 

Belle closed her eyes. Tomorrow she would breakfast with her mother, then sneak away as soon as possible to continue her research in the grimoire. She smiled as she drifted off to sleep.

She was certain she would find the answer in her books.


End file.
